


In Dreams

by AMiserableLove



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMiserableLove/pseuds/AMiserableLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't take long after they escape the prison for the nightmares to catch her... *mentions of spoilers*</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt: "can you do something involving nightmares and one of them being calmed down by the other?"
> 
> I’ve taken a few liberties—loosely follows current plot, picking up after they flee the prison together*

It doesn’t take long after they escape the prison for the nightmares to catch her.

The first time it happens it’s Maggie’s face she sees behind closed and fluttering eyelids—just outside the burning prison walls, the dim moans and dull grunts of the surrounding walkers ring in her ears.

She can’t breath, can barely think, only capable of reacting.

She fights her sister off frantically; Maggie’s body heavy on top of hers, her eyes dark and blank and her face decaying; the rotten stench of death burning her nose as jagged teeth snap out suddenly and dig into her shoulder, ripping into her flesh—the pain and blood and mangled tissue blending together in a sickening mixture that has her gasping and writhing before Maggie draws back slightly, growls, and dives back in for more.

It hurts.

Oh God it hurts.

Devastates her.

_Breaks her._

And unable to contain the clawing heat that’s rising in her throat…

She screams out.

Anguish. Despair. Fear. Disbelief.

_Maggie._

Sobbing, crying loudly, _brokenly,_ her voice a breathless and wheezing mess of stuttering words; another scream is ripped from her as she struggles against the unyielding weight on top of her—a small part of her refusing to believe that any of this is real, a whispered and low voice ringing softly in her ears and urging her to open her eyes, begging her to wake up.

And in her dream the shadows of more approaching and faceless walkers fall over her ominously, blocking out the light as her dead sister’s face morphs into her father. Continuing the attack, he quiets her sobbed protests by moving his attentions from her shoulder to her jaw, brutally digging into her skin and tearing it open— her cries becoming muffled and weak as her vision blurs.

When she wakes, finally pulled from her nightmare with a lingering twitch in her cheek muscle and a radiating pain in her shoulder, _he’s_ lying on top of her, hissing in her ear for her to _shut ‘er damn trap_ —hand over her mouth, blue eyes bright with a mixture of fear and fury as he quietly berates her for likely drawing the attention of every damn walker within a five-mile radius.

When she stiffens and stills, her sobs coming in short and fading away to nothing more than panting gasps and tiny stifled whimpers against his palm, he moves off of her fast; cursing quietly under his breath before picking up his crossbow and scooting as far away from her as possible, facing the rickety door of the old abandoned cabin they’ve ducked into for the night without so much as a worried glance over his shoulder.

And as she sits up slowly, eyes avoiding him as she rubs her bare arms gently, she forces her watery gaze to remain on the dirty ground; embarrassment and shame bubbling up inside of her at her pathetic show of unhinged emotion—a taunting voice in her head mocking her for her weakness. Trying in vain to brush away the dampness that burns at her eyes, she lets out a defeated sigh as a numbing coldness settles over her and the hot and angry tears she’s fighting to hold back finally begin to fall.

The nightmares stay with her.

Terrorizing her.

Haunting her.

The next time she wakes up screaming, they’ve set camp deep in the woods near a slow-moving river—the faces of those she fears dead flashing in her head in gruesome detail as she thrashes in her sleep. She just barely has the chance to yell out, notes of despair cutting through the air, before he’s there again; this time gentler and less abrasive—hands on her shoulders and voice low in her ear as he tries to shake her out of her terrified state.

Waking, realizing that once again she had only been dreaming—Maggie and the others fate still left uncertain—she shoots him a watery and curious look, biting back a soft sob as she throws herself forward unthinkingly; burying her face into his chest and hugging him fiercely—breathing unsteady and heart beating erratically as he stiffens against her.

But he doesn’t push her away.

She cries and mourns those they’ve lost and those they fear to be dead.

And he doesn’t push her away.

After that night he’s always there, before the screaming starts, stirring her from the unyielding darkness and drawing her out of her unconscious grief with uncharacteristically gentle hands and low and murmured words of awkward comfort.

She comes to rely on it, his watchful presence as she sleeps; the calloused fingers as they quietly wipe away her silent tears, the look of concern that flashes in his usually hard and dispassionate gaze, the way he eventually softens and holds her back whenever exhausted and full of misery she embraces him after being roused from yet another nightmare.

After some time the dark dreams begin to fade, her mind blocking out the terrifying images almost completely, her sleep becoming less and less disrupted. But even so, he’s always there, continuing to keep silent vigil and ready to chase away her demons before they have a chance to sneak back up on her and consume her whole.

_He’s always there._

Until, eventually, he’s not.

When they take her from him, tearing her away from the only comfort and protection she’s known over the past few days… _weeks even_ —how long she’s been with him she’s not entirely sure—she fights and sobs and screams and begs them to let her go. And as the car speeds away, a part of her waits, in vain, for him to wake her up from the cruel, cruel dream that’s mercilessly engulfed her.

But he doesn’t.

She’s alone.

It doesn’t take long before the nightmares come back in full force, their vicious brutality jarring her completely. And each time she’s pulled from sleep—his face joining the long list of those whose fate she holds uncertain— she cries silently, gut-wrenching tears, hugging herself and muffling her despair with the back of her hands as she wishes and prays to a God she no longer believes exists that he was there…

**_Coda:_ **

_She lays awake, staring listlessly at the ceiling, refusing to sleep, afraid, as always, that when she closes her eyes, the terror that she’s both lived and imagined while away from her family will steal its way into her brain, torturing her relentlessly as she lays unconscious and helpless to stop it, even as a voice in her head tries to reassure her that she’s safe now, her family has found her._

_Still, she can’t sleep, too afraid of what she’ll see._

_And she’s so tired._

_So very, very, tired._

_So caught up in fighting off her exhaustion, she just barely notices his quiet footsteps; her eyes shooting from the ceiling above her to track his movements as he approaches her cot without a word and drops down next to her, shifting his weapon and sitting close enough to be within arm **’** s reach but far enough away so that they’re not entirely touching._

_"Sleep."_

_There’s not even a small part of her that considers arguing with him._

_And when she closes her eyes, all her tired mind registers is his quiet presence keeping silent guard, prepared to strike down each and every horror that threatens to come her way…_

_That night she doesn’t dream at all._


End file.
